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When the wolf came sniffing at the pasture’s borders, the herd stopped its grazing and scurried off, dutifully shepherding their young along with them. All the children followed but one- a lamb with fleece like the November sky above and a dreamy look in their eyes. Seeming almost in a trance, the errant lamb pranced over to the half-rotten fence and began speaking to the predator with undue familiarity.
“It’s alright if you eat me,” they murmured, craning their neck up to meet the beast’s maw. “I don’t mind. Just make it quick.”
For a moment, the wolf only stared back at the young one, unsure what to make of the offer. In all their days stalking the woods by the old farmer’s land, they’d never met a creature so lacking in self-preservation that hadn’t been half-dead already.
Had the wolf been hungrier, or the scrawny morsel before them a bit plumper, they might have gobbled them up right then- but they were not. For the moment, at least, only their curiosity needed satiating. “Whatever is the matter with you?” They growled, incredulous. “Death is a nasty thing, child. Don’t you know that?”
“No, no. Only the dying is,” the lamb bleated back in earnest, seating their rump in the thin grass. “After that, it’s peaceful.“
The wolf let out a snort at the lamb’s conviction, mildly astounded by their naivety. Barely eight months old, if that, and already making such grand proclamations. “Nonsense. There’s no guarantee of paradise. For all we know it might be the same sort of life all over again, or some endless, unceasing nightmare.“
“This place is purgatory enough, mister,” the lamb murmured. “What comes after will be better, I just know it.”
“Even if there was an afterlife, and even if it was as lovely as you hope,” the wolf sighed, poking their huge, black, long-eared head through the fence to speak with the lamb face-to-face, “which, again, you have no way of knowing for sure- why the rush? Why not enjoy your youth and frolic with your siblings?”
At this, the lamb let out a frustrated little scoff and trotted closer, nearly brushing their snout against the lupine’s. “I- it’s difficult to explain. I don’t want to. I’m unhappy, and I’d rather just be eaten, alright?”
Raising one eyebrow and drawing their head back out of the gap in the fence, the wolf considered this a moment. “Then convince me. Give me three reasons why I should take your life, and I’ll do so.”
The lamb scowled. “What? Why do you even care?”
“I don’t,” they chuckled, a deep, raspy sound. “I simply enjoy a spirited discussion.”
“But-“ The lamb stammered, looking outraged. “I- it’d only take a moment, and-“
“Three reasons, lamb.”
“…fine,” they sighed after a moment, having no recourse. The wolf would have their game, it seemed. “Firstly, I hate it here.”
“Whatever for?” There wasn’t anything wrong with the pasture, as far as the wolf could tell. It was verdant and lush, the fence old but mostly firm, and the herd didn’t appear diseased.
“It’s boring,” the lamb replied. “I eat the same plain grass every day. The sun rises and sets. The ewes gossip. The rams bash their heads together.” A little grumble escapes their lips. “And the other lambs only play boring games.”
“I would think that’s still much better than a wolf tearing a hole in your throat,” the beast replied, one corner of their muzzle wrinkling slightly in amusement. “I’ve seen the fear in the eyes of my prey as their blood fills my mouth, heard their agonized wails fade into gurgling squeals and muffled whimpers... You’d prefer a few uninteresting conversations to that, I assure you.”
The lamb cringed at the visceral description but remained steadfast, an irritated puff of air escaping their nostrils. “Well, it’d be more exciting than listening to my aunts chatter about the consistency of their wool or who the farmer likes best or which ram is the most handsome for the millionth time, if nothing else! If I spend one more day here, my brain’s going to rot and drip out my ears!”
They cleared their throat, seeming a bit bashful about their outburst. “…and like I said, that pain is temporary. It’ll hurt, and then it’ll be over.”
The wolf chuckled slightly. “You do seem a bit stir-crazy, I’ll admit. But have you considered that you might feel differently later?” They laid down, tucking their legs beneath them. “You’re still little more than a child, after all.”
“Why would I feel any different as I get older when that’s the only thing changing?” The lamb chuffed. “The grass won’t get any better, and the conversations will stay dull. My knees might start hurting, but otherwise- no.”
“Your mind may change,” the wolf counters. “As you grow more mature, you may grow to love that grass. Those conversations may become stimulating. I hated snow when I was a cub, refused to play in it- now I like it just fine.”
“The key word is ‘may.’ None of the ewes were like me when they were young, they were like the other lambs. They’ve always liked bland grass and boring topics.” The lamb grumbled, a clear note of bitterness in their voice. “And I don’t want to risk years of misery on the off chance I’m wrong.”
“Fair enough,” the wolf conceded after a moment of consideration, head cocking to one side slightly. “Cozy as you are, it’s not a particularly stimulating existence and likely never will be. Is there truly nothing here that interests or pleases you enough to stay? Might you not find a romantic interest or some such?”
The lamb shook its wooly little head earnestly. A no, evidently.
“Very well.” The lupine yawned wide, teeth gleaming. “I suppose I’ll accept that as your first justification. Two to go, little one.”
For a moment, the lamb didn’t respond and instead stared at the wolf’s fangs intently. Their eyes traced the curve of each pale saber longingly, praying they would soon be carving up their throat.
Finally, taking a breath, they continued. “…good.”
“Anyway- my second reason is that it doesn’t matter, since they don’t like me and won’t miss me anyway.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised.” The wolf stifled a laugh, flashing a bit of sharp ivory. “You’re terribly dour, little one.“
“I wasn’t always.” The lamb grumbled, eyes narrowing.
“So you say. Have you considered trying to be more likable, at least? Telling jokes, coming up with stories or poems? Perhaps learning some tricks?”
“I have,” they replied, one foot kicking at the earth in frustration. “It’s never worked out.”
“What exactly have you done?” The beast deadpanned, their head cocking to one side. “I can’t imagine why, but I’m beginning to get the feeling you haven’t been putting your best paw- or hoof, I suppose- forward. Surely at least your mother would miss you?”
“I tried to tell one of my jokes, and it didn’t work,” the lamb spat, shooting the wolf a harsh, reproachful glare. “I told you, wolf- I’ve done all I can, and it’s not worth it. Outside of when they tease me and push me around for being the smallest, nobody so much as notices I exist, let alone enjoys my company.”
“And my mother’s dead. I never even met her.”
The beast pondered this a while. Finally, they simply shrugged their great shoulders and rested their head atop their paws. “Well… that’s simply the way of the world, little one. The strong torment the weak. Sometimes for food, sometimes for fun, sometimes simply because they can.”
“I was a runt like you, once. Starving and fighting with siblings twice my size for milk or scraps of meat. The first winter I spent on my own, I ate bark and stones just to fill my stomach. I couldn’t find a pack to take me in for months and ended up losing three toes to the cold.” They turn and show their back left foot, which indeed is lacking some digits.
“But because I persevered, I found myself where I am today- with a full belly, a strong body, and a lovely mate to call my own. In a few months, she will birth my pups. We will raise them together. And because I persevered back then, I can ensure that even my littlest son or daughter will not suffer like I did.”
The wolf gives the lamb a pointed look. “You live in a safe, lush pasture. Your greatest trouble is boredom. Doctors will come to heal you if you take ill. Your shepherd will always ensure you have enough to eat- your stomach may rumble, but you will never starve. In the summer’s heat, you will be shorn and watered, and in the winter’s cold, you will be given shelter in a warm barn.”
“So let me ask you this. Considering your current position, as opposed to what mine was at my lowest, is it really so unrealistic to suppose things could get better? Would you really trade your easy life for a painful death?”
“Well, what about you? Would you trade your life for my easy one?” The lamb murmured in reply after a moment of thought.
The wolf snorted, seeming a bit put out. “Really? Answering my question with a question? Here I’d thought I made an argument worth discussing, and you barely even thought about it.”
“You did make an argument worth discussing,” the lamb replied with a little smile. “I just don’t want to discuss this any more than I have to.”
“That’s no fun!” The wolf grumbled.
“But it’s not against the rules, is it?” The lamb pressed.
“…well, no, I suppose it’s not,” the wolf sighed, rolling their eyes. “It’s not particularly amiable, however. And you wonder why your family dislikes you. But no, I suppose I would not trade my life for yours. An easy life in a cage isn’t much to my liking.“
A small giggle escaped the lamb. “So then I win this round too, right? My second reason is acceptable?”
“Yes, you win.” The wolf replied, smiling a bit, too. “I see you’re starting to enjoy yourself. You really have been bored, haven’t you?”
The lamb nodded. “Very.
“Hm. Well, on to the third round.”
“Alright,” the lamb replied. “My third reason is that I-“ A dark look crossed their face, leaving a grimace in its wake. “I want to leave before things get worse.”
The wolf’s brow furrowed, bristly fur meshing between their eyes. “Hmm?”
“Come- come next fall, the rams will be all over me,” the lamb explained, revulsion twisting their nose. “I’ll be old enough for the farmer to let them. It happened to my older sisters, my cousins... And those stupid brutes will hurt me. I know it.”
“…that’s an awfully negative way to look at it, child. Have you considered you might enjoy it?” The wolf replied curiously, seeming a bit bewildered by their fear. “Not all sex is rape. I did not rape my mate, nor did my father or her father. And it can be quite pleasant, especially if you care for the other party. I somewhat doubt docile creatures like your kind are that much more predisposed to forcing themselves on their females than wild beasts like myself, especially in the presence of so many ewes who’re completely willing.”
“But I don’t love them,” they countered, fuming a bit. “I’m never going to love any of them. They bully me. Why would I love one who’s exactly the same but larger, hormone-addled, and aggressively trying to have sex with me?”
The wolf shrugged. “You’re still pubescent, lamb. In time, those hormones may make them start to see you as an attractive female rather than a bullying target. And hormones will change how you see the world, too- perhaps that will become love in your eyes, or at least something not quite as offensive.”
“It’s still disgusting.”
“Did your older sisters and cousins seem disgusted during mating season?”
The lamb’s ears drooped, and they averted their eyes. Were they human, they'd be blushing. “Well, I- I didn’t watch, and I didn’t ask. That’s crass. Some of them limped a bit afterward, so...”
A little snort escaped the wolf. “Isn’t your assumption about the rams a little unfounded, then? Pardon my bluntness, but perhaps your sisters just had an especially good time. I fear your inexperience is showing, lamb.”
“You’re not getting it- I never said they raped my sisters. I’m saying they’d do it to me,” the lamb replied, voice a bit sharp. “There are lots of willing ewes, yes. They could do it with them if they wanted. But that’s not why they’d do it to me. They’d do it because they hate me, and they'd make it painful just to torment me. They injured some of my sisters by accident. What would they do to an ewe they actually want to hurt?”
“They hate you that much?” The wolf questioned, looking both dubious and a bit disturbed. “Really?”
“Yes,” the lamb said angrily. “There’s this one male about my age, and he says things. Nasty jokes, or maybe threats, I don’t know. Others join in. Other males, mostly, and some of my sisters and cousins. Either way, it scares me, and even if they don’t do anything, the farmer will make me get pregnant this year or the next. If I don’t, I’ll be culled. And if I do, the babies might kill me like I killed my mother. It'd hurt really badly.”
“And knowing I’m forcing others to exist in the same horrid place I hate so much would hurt even more.” Their face fell, eyes welling up. “I’d have to watch them suffer. Or worse, watch them become cruel.“
“We only get to live five or six years anyway,” they murmured, tears leaking from their eyes. “So what’s it matter?“
The wolf’s head shifted, brow furrowed in thought, but they did not speak.
After a while, the lamb continued, voice a little anxious.
“Well, is that enough? I hate it here. Everyone else here hates me and won’t miss me at all. And things are only going to get more miserable. That’s three reasons, wolf. I don’t want to-“
“Follow me,” the wolf replied simply, standing and trotting alongside the white picket fence.
Confused, the lamb complied, bounding alongside the fence in an effort to keep up. “Where are we going?”
“All three of your justifications hinge on one thing.” The wolf stopped at a certain part of the fence and, with a resounding crack, hurled their body against the wood.
The planks there were especially old and rotten, having not been replaced in many, many years, so the timber simply snapped. “Being in this pasture.”
The lamb’s jaw dropped, eyes widening. “What?”
“You hate it here, no one will miss you, and your life will only worsen if you stay here. Those are your reasons for leaving this world.” The wolf chuckled. “But those reasons are only applicable to the world you know- this pasture. You’ve no experience with the world outside it at all. So why don’t you come and see it for a little while, at least to give it a try?”
“I don’t understand,” the lamb stammered, staring at the fragments of fence on the ground as if they were fallen pieces of the sky. “You- you’re asking me to leave? The world outside might be even worse! You said so yourself; it’s harsh and miserable and-“
“But I still wouldn’t trade it for this world, like you said,” the wolf countered. “Besides, aren’t you curious?”
The lamb paused, thinking a moment, and then nodded. “Yes. I think I am.”
The wolf craned their head over the unbroken lowermost portion of the fence and lifted the lamb by the scruff, pulling them through the gap and setting them down again.
Taking a few experimental steps and leaning down to take a bite of grass, the lamb quickly determined that the world outside the fence was very much like the world within it. The grass was still bland, the air was still chilly, and the November sky above was still grey.
But here, the sky was open. Here, the lamb could run- for miles, if they wanted. Here they could go anywhere, do anything, with no one to scold them and no fences to bar the way.
The lamb couldn’t help but cry, slumping to the ground and greedily huffing the scent of the world.
“I take it I win, then? No more snappy one-line refutations?” The wolf asked curiously after a moment of thought, tapping the lamb’s head with a paw.
The lamb laughed despite themself, tears still streaming from their eyes. “I- no, no more refutations. You win. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome,” the wolf replied, sitting back on their haunches with a smug look. “And thank you for playing, lamb. I enjoyed our conversation.”
“Anytime,” the lamb replied, tail wagging. “Maybe we can talk again sometime. Would that be alright?”
The wolf shrugged their shoulders. “I live in a den on the far hill to the East, and you may visit if my mate allows it. If you’re planning on living more than a few weeks in these woods, however, I would suggest you get to know them quickly. Winter is fast approaching and I have a pregnant mate to care for, so I wouldn’t be able to forage for you even if I wanted to.”
“Additionally,” the wolf continued, “I would suggest making yourself scarce if winter stretches on. I will kill you if my cubs are hungry."
“I’ll keep that in mind,” the lamb replied sheepishly.
“See that you do. I’d rather not have to eat someone so entertaining.” The wolf chuckled at their joke. “Anyhow- seeing as we’re to be neighbors, may I ask your name? ‘Lamb’ is a little awkward.”
“Willow,” the lamb replied, smiling gently. “What’s yours?”
“Well, that’s funny,” the wolf snorted. “It’s Pine. Both of us named after trees, and separated by a wooden fence.”
“Willow is a kind of tree?” Willow asked, head cocking to one side.
“Indeed,” Pine replied, nodding his head. “I suppose you wouldn’t have seen one, so far from any lake-“
The wolf paused, eyes narrowing at something unclear. His hackles raised.
“What?” Willow asked, brow furrowing.
In an instant Pine’s eyes sprang wide and he spun round, claws throwing up turf.
And with a clap like thunder piercing the air, he fell just as quickly, his great furry body crumpling.
Willow screamed, but Pine did not. It was a good shot; blood trickled from a little round hole between his ears, making his dark fur glisten. She could only stare, stare in horror at the limp, monstrous thing crowding her vision. She’d never seen a talking animal die. Worms. Bugs. A bird, once. Not someone she’d known, talked to. Not so violently.
A voice shocked her from her trance, making her whip her head round. The farmer, just over the hill, calling to her. His voice was sweet, like always. She liked him.
But he was coming to take her back.
Her heart pounded in her chest, adrenaline setting her veins afire.
And with a last look at the pasture she’d lived in all her life, she ran.
-
Many years after the day a wolf named Pine came sniffing at her pasture’s borders, the little lamb named Willow grew into an ewe.
She was feral, surviving in the forests by the skin of her yellowed teeth, and her once lovely wool had become a shaggy, dirty mess from over a decade without washing or shearing. Her belly was rarely full, and clean water was hard to come by. The flesh of her ankles and face was marred with scars from claws, teeth, and thorns, and her ankles often ached from walking and running in her old age.
She did not have a mate, nor any children to call her own. And she never would- it was much too late for that, now, with her being nearly fifteen years old. She did not have a home, a fence, a warm barn in winter, or cool water in summer.
But her body was strong. Her fleece was, under the grime, still the color of the November sky. And for the first time in her life- even if they had not spoken in a long, long while, even if she had only known him a little less than a day, even if he had long since been nothing more than a body by a field- she could count someone in the world as a friend.
The End